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“I’m sorry I can’t say it,” Juno whispers.
Peter feels his body go very still. He has one arm laced over Juno’s shoulders, far enough that his hand rests crooked over Juno’s pec; once he’s regained control of his limbs, he tightens his grip. With his free hand he sets his comms onto the bedside table. He peers down at Juno where he rests tucked against his torso, gaze pinned on the far wall. He can feel the tension and misery roll off him like smoke from a chimney.
Peter fishes Juno’s hand out from under the covers. He threads their fingers. “You don’t need to. I already know.”
Juno still won’t look at him. “You deserve to hear me tell you anyway.”
“Oh, Juno.” Peter props their joined hands under his chin. “You tell me all the time. Just like this, when we hold each other. When you’re honest with me.”
“But it’s not…” Juno makes a frustrated noise. Their fingers come unlocked; Peter’s arm slides off Juno’s shoulders as he sits up. Peter wrestles with the desire to reach after him, scared that Juno is about to leave—but then fingers alight on Peter’s wrist.
“It’s just…” Juno says. The light from the bedside table casts a golden glow across his face. “It’s. The only other people I’ve uh…said it to. They’re not around anymore.”
Around. Peter can feel the weight behind the word. He reaches up and traces Juno’s jawline with the knuckle of his index finger.
“I can’t promise you I’ll be safe,” Peter tells him. “But I can promise you I’ll be careful. And that for as long as I have the choice…I’ll be here.” He lets his fingers trail down to rest along the dip of Juno’s clavicle. “Your love can’t hurt me, sweetheart.”
Peter feels the hand spasm around his wrist. Juno ducks away—shakes his head. Then the atmosphere changes, like a struck match out of the dark. Like Juno has come to a decision.
Juno lifts Peter’s wrist so, so slowly, as though the limb were spun out of glass. He guides his hand towards his mouth. He presses his lips to Peter’s pulse point, then looks up at him.
For a moment the scene hangs suspended, the seconds underlined by the tickle of air across Peter’s skin. Juno’s breath comes out too fast—too shallow.
Peter feels himself swallow. He opens his mouth to reassure Juno—
And he feels Juno’s lips start to move against his skin. The airflow changes, to become something more warm—more sure. Juno presses each silent syllable to Peter’s pulse, so slow as for Peter to feel them clear as a brush-tip on his skin:
I love you.
All the air leaves Peter’s lungs at once. He shivers as Juno’s mouth finds the center of his palm. Peter feels the same words kiss the skin there: I love you. I love you.
“Juno,” Peter croaks. What he’d said was true: he’d known Juno loved him. Of course he had. Juno showed him as much every day. But to feel the actual words on his skin...the realness of the act sets up a sting behind Peter’s eyes. His heart clamors against his ribs.
Juno’s not done. He presses one last kiss to Peter’s hand, then shuffles down onto the bed—tucks his body back along the line of Peter’s torso. Peter gasps as Juno leans over and presses his lips to his throat, right below his ear. Peter’s tears threaten to spill over.
I love you.
Peter almost wants to tell him to stop. That it’s too much. He feels like he’s about to rattle out of his skin. The first tear slips down his cheek. Juno only props himself up on his elbow. Peter’s eyes flutter closed as Juno kisses his cheek, right over the tear track. He feels Juno’s lips turn up as he smiles. The words hum through Peter’s whole body as Juno mouths them:
I love you, Peter Nureyev.